Strange and Beautiful
by Tozz
Summary: MM/StH. AU. Carl is forced to find a new waitress for his cafe, but Katie might be more than he bargained for. A tragedy/comedy/romance/drama about mental illness.
1. Chapter 1

I've been watching your world from afar / I've been trying to be where you are / And I've been secretly falling apart, unseen  
To me, you're strange and you're beautiful / You'd be so perfect with me but you just can't see / You turn every head but you don't see me

x x x

I know that people would probably rather I work on the final installment of my Claire trilogy, but this is a story I've had in mind for a while, and just recently got to finish the first chapter.

It's supposed to be pretty serious, but I feel the tone is a bit goofy. Well, it's just the beginning.

I'm not sure how I feel about this fic, but I'm definitely interested in continuing it.

Please, let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.

x x x

**Chapter one**

And here Carl thought it couldn't get any worse.

The cash register had been on the fritz all morning: at first it simply refused to open no matter what buttons he punched, but in the last hour, it had taken to thrusting out its drawer at random and inopportune intervals with a happily sarcastic dinging sound, more often than not nailing him right in the gut if he happened to be in its path.

On top of that, he'd run out of blueberry muffins early because he'd misplaced an entire batch prepared the night before. _Misplacing an entire muffin batch? Who does things like that?_ his frustrated brain screamed at him, but the only feasible answer he could come up with was, "Why, let me introduce you to Carl, the completely incompetent idiot who handles his batches of muffins about as well as he handles his cash registers."

The icing on the cake, however, came when Ellen showed up to the café, right before the lunch rush, for the sole purpose of breaking up with him.

"I'm breaking up with you," she informed him, and Carl felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him—though that was only because the cash register from hell chose that exact moment to pummel him in the gut for the hundredth time that day. _Ding._

"Does this mean you're not going to work the lunch shift?" he asked after he'd caught his breath, his voice only slightly wheezing.

He could tell right away from her expression that this was the wrong question to ask.

"That is exactly why I'm breaking up with you." She shook her head back and forth as she spoke, like she was watching a ping-pong match. "You care more about the café than about me. You always have."

Carl knew he was probably supposed to deny that, but instead he started adjusting his bow tie, which had the dual benefit of giving him a reason to not meet her eyes while making him look busy in the process.

"You have nothing to say for yourself," she said, and he couldn't argue with that. But he felt like he should at least say something for her sake, if not for his own.

"I'm sorry." An apology seemed appropriate, and even the right thing to offer, but Ellen didn't appear to think so.

"Don't, Carl. Just don't. It's done." The cheerful jangling as the door swung shut dampened the drama of her exit, but he still felt guilty. A guilt that lasted until he checked his wristwatch and saw it was five minutes til the lunch rush, and now his one and only waitress had quit.

He groaned. The cash register drawer launched itself open and smacked him in the stomach once more, completing his misfortune. He exhaled and gently pushed it shut, staring blankly for a few seconds at all the numbered keys on the register. Then he sighed again and went off to retrieve supplies to make a Help Wanted sign.

x x x

Carl didn't expect anyone to take the sign seriously, mostly because there wasn't anyone around to take it seriously. Nobody had any interest in helping him with his café, and for good reason—they all had businesses and lives of their own. Ellen had been his waitress only because they were dating. She volunteered because she wanted to "be part of something he loved." He had been grateful for the extra pair of hands.

It wasn't like he didn't care about Ellen. She was a sweet girl, but her sweetness was so undisruptive, nondescript, made of cardboard with dull, rounded edges.

By four, the café had settled down. For the moment, the cash register was behaving itself, the restaurant was empty, and Carl had just finished organizing the baking pans. Life was good.

He heard the door jangle from where he was in the kitchen, and immediately strolled out to the front of the restaurant, hastened by his curiosity. It was a small town, so he knew the schedules of all of his customers. Rarely did someone come in at an unusual time, and—a quick glance at his wristwatch—4:03 definitely qualified as unusual.

It was a girl. Her pale pink boots made a quaint shuffling sound as she sauntered up to the counter. Carl stared, taking in her bright flower print dress that hung to her knees, her perfectly coiffed, coppered ringlets that lay neatly on her shoulders, her azure eyes that at this moment felt as though they lasered right through him.

"I'm here about the sign," she said, and he couldn't take his eyes off her mouth while she spoke, fascinated the way her lips pursued when she pronounced "about." "Are you still looking for someone?"

Carl didn't answer right away, first because he was still a bit flabbergasted by her appearance, and second because her words didn't make sense to him.

"What sign?" he asked, moving his eyes up from her lips, past her small, slightly crooked nose, coming to rest on those sharp blue eyes.

"The one in the window."

He glanced at the window and instantly remembered. Oh yes, of course, the Help Wanted sign. He paused in the train of thought. Wait, someone actually _was_ taking it seriously?

"Um, so you're saying you'd like a job?" he asked, and she nodded. "What's your name? I don't think I've seen you around here before…"

"I just moved here," she answered carefully, as if this wasn't quite true—but clearly, it must have been. "My name is Katie. And yes, I'd like a job."

"Carl," he replied, holding his hand out to her. She took it, her grip somewhat limp, and let go after a gentle shake. "It's nice to meet you. I'm the owner."

She nodded again, this time breaking out into a smile.

"So, um, a job," he said, feeling suddenly flustered by her warm expression. "Yes, my last waitress quit today—she was going through, ah, personal difficulties—and it's quite hard to function without somebody else. What you'd be doing is taking orders, washing tables, et cetera—oh, out of curiosity, do you have any experience with that sort of thing?"

"Yes." Her smile faltered with her answer, though Carl couldn't see why. "I used to work at my grandfather's bar, in the place I lived in before."

"Oh, okay, great," he said, nodding enthusiastically. That meant he wouldn't have to train her. She could probably start tomorrow, and things would carry on just as they should, like Ellen had never left…however, he knew there was just one catch. "By the way, how old are you?" He braced himself for her answer—she was barely five feet tall, and her face looked young, like she couldn't be older than sixteen.

"Eighteen," she responded without missing a beat. Her smile became dazzling once more. "And yes, I can provide proof."

"Good," he said, the feeling of befuddlement rushing back, though he attempted to keep his composure. What was wrong with him? "Where did you say were from?" He knew she hadn't said yet, that all she'd mentioned was her grandfather's bar. He hated when people did that, guys especially, when they pretended like they'd forgotten a girl's name or where she was from when she'd never said it in the first place. He found it to be a sleazy and annoying practice, and yet here he was doing it.

"Well…" That cautious aura was back, and her smile slowly slunk away. "I'm from a town called Sugar Valley. It's far from here."

"I see," Carl said, the name of her hometown unfamiliar to him. "What brings you to Flowerbud Village?"

Katie's hand went to her hair, taking a tip of one of those shiny ringlets and pinching it, like she was nervous. "I feel like I can trust you, Carl. Can I?"

Oh, hell. What had he gotten himself into? Maybe she really was a minor and she'd run away from home. Or maybe she was a fugitive, an escaped convict, and this was the part where she'd pull out her axe and hack him to pieces. "You can trust me," he told her, his voice shamefully trembling just a little bit.

"Most people don't believe me," she said, her words stumbling and tripping like they were pushing their way out of her mouth, like they couldn't get out there fast enough. "But I came from the past."

"The past?" he echoed, not understanding. Past? Was that the name of a type of train, maybe?

"I'm not supposed to be here," she continued, and now she became hesitant once more. "I'm…a time traveler."

x x x

Carl's mother always told him he was a good listener, and he felt like that was the secret to his success. Good service meant everything in the food business, and so if he'd done something to make the customer unhappy (or even if he hadn't), he let them complain, listening attentively and nodding sincerely all the while, until their dissatisfaction was exhausted. Then he mustered up a soothing tone and did his best to smooth over the situation. It was what he was good at. It was how he could handle demonic cash registers and shortages of blueberry muffins and all the other catastrophes he was met with on a daily basis without going insane.

And it was what allowed him to listen to Katie's story.

She spoke in vague terms, and though he listened as closely as he could, he still felt utterly confused. It was a mistake, she kept saying. She wasn't supposed to be here. A time machine had sent her here by accident, and now she had to find it again so she could go back.

Obviously, she was completely off her rocker; Carl could tell she wasn't joking by the way she acted so earnestly. But he was at a loss as to how to respond.

"But why are you applying for a job?" he asked, the only safe question he could think of.

She lowered her eyes, playing with the ends of her hair again. "Your café…it reminded me so much of my grandfather's, that I just…" She fell into a lapse of quietude.

"Okay. Okay." Carl began rubbing his temples and thinking about how this certainly didn't _seem_ very okay, contrary to what was coming out of his mouth.

Just then the door opened, momentarily rescuing Carl from having to say anything further to Katie. However, it was yet another face he didn't recognize: this time, a big burly man, with tan skin and dark brown hair going bald in large patches.

"Katie!" he boomed, his tone jolly and easygoing. "I wondered where you got off to. Causing trouble, are you?"

Carl shrunk back as the man approached the counter—one, because he was at least six feet tall with large, thick arms, and two, because apparently he was friends with a girl who believed herself to be a time traveler, and those two traits combined made him incredibly suspicious (and a little terrifying).

"I'm not a child, Ronald," Katie sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. Ronald shook his head with a grin and winked at Carl.

"She wasn't bothering you, was she?" he asked Carl as he ruffled Katie's hair. She ducked away from his hand with a scowl.

Carl cleared his throat. "Uh—no—that is—um—your…your…daughter was—"

Ronald interrupted him with a belly laugh. "This brat isn't my daughter! She's the granddaughter of a friend of mine."

"Oh, my mistake," Carl mumbled, bowing his head in acknowledgment of his misunderstanding. However, his confusion was increasing with every second. "Well, anyway, she, um, Katie was—"

"I applied for a job, and Carl hired me," Katie said, cutting off Carl before he could even finish. She pressed on, not allowing him to point out that she hadn't exactly been hired yet. "I'm a waitress now. It'll be just like old times, like when I worked with Grandpa."

Ronald's face fell, all of his joviality vanishing in an instant. "Katie," he said softly. "You can't."

Katie lifted her chin up, staring at him with blazing defiance, and Carl wondered how Ronald could hold up under that icy stare. A lot of practice, probably. Several seconds passed by, and Carl could tell something was passing between them, invisible and incomprehensible, but still felt by him, an outsider. Then Katie turned on her heel and stomped towards the exit.

"I know what's happening to me," she said over her shoulder, and then the door slammed shut, leaving the two men in silence.

"I didn't actually hire her," Carl finally said, because he felt like that should be cleared up, and now that Katie was gone, it was like a massive high pressure system had left the room and given him back the space to speak.

Ronald smiled, but it seemed sad, and it made Carl feel bad even though he hadn't done anything wrong. "Did Katie tell you about…?" It looked like he didn't want to finish, but he didn't have to. Carl knew exactly what he meant.

"Yeah. Um…I don't mean to be rude, but…" He trailed off. He had no idea what to say, how to phrase it—other than, _why is that girl so stark raving mad?_

"Katie has a…disease. A disease that gives her a delusional disorder."

Carl tried saying it himself. "A delusional disorder?" The words made his tongue curl in an odd way.

Ronald nodded. "Yes. She believes that she doesn't belong here. Generally, it doesn't interfere with her day-to-day life. She tends to keep it a secret from people. Why she told you…" He stopped, like he was going to say something but then decided against it. "Well, in every other aspect, she is a normal young woman. I know it might be hard to believe, but she truly is a sweet girl. She's just confused."

Carl stayed quiet, because what do you say to that?

"I'm Ronald, by the way." He extended a hand, and Carl stepped forward to take it. "I look after Katie, even though she's an adult. Her grandfather passed away a few months ago, so she's got no one else. I've got money saved up, so we do okay. I took her here because…" He blew out a breath and smiled wryly. "I was hoping things would be different."

"I don't know what to say," Carl replied honestly. "But I'm sorry."

Ronald waved him off. "It's fine, it's fine. But listen, I do have a favor to ask. Katie…she came in here looking for a job, right?"

Carl nodded, knowing what came next.

"Could you do her and me a favor and…humor her? Like I said, she's a sweet girl. A hard worker. She always did a good job at Wally's—that's her grandfather. She knows how to cook and clean, and the time travel stuff, well…it shouldn't come up too much. And if she causes any trouble, I'll take full responsibility."

He could sense the man's ardor, his near desperation, and how much this meant to him. How much he wanted Carl to understand him, to understand Katie, to sympathize with their situation.

It reminded Carl of the first time Ellen asked him on a date. He'd known how much she wanted him to say yes. He could picture how happy she'd look, and that was enough for him at the time.

"If there's any way you could give her the job…it would mean so much to her, and I'd really appreciate it…"

Carl cursed his sentimental nature, because he knew just how wrong this could turn out.

He knew, and still he said, "She's got the job."

x x x


	2. Chapter 2

Thank for reviewing, and sticking around for chapter two. I hope this story continues to hold your interest. :) I don't know when the next update will come. Sorry, haha.

x x x

**Chapter two**

Katie showed up exactly on time the next day—there was a brisk, sharp knock at the door just as the secondhand on Carl's watch sprung forward to hover for a moment beneath the twelve, making it eight o'clock in the morning, on the dot.

"Good morning, Katie," he greeted her once the door was unlocked and open for her. "You're right on time."

She smiled shyly at him, and he noticed her hairdo was just as flawless as the day before, though this time she had it swept up and pinned high behind her head. It made him wonder how early she had to wake up to get such seemingly effortless curls. There was no way could they possibly be natural, he reasoned—although, then again, everything about Katie was entirely unnatural.

Carl couldn't help but keep a close eye on her as he walked her through the café and kitchen, giving her a tour of her new workplace. He knew, based on what Ronald had said, that Katie wasn't dangerous or anything, but he felt on edge around her in spite of himself.

"So, uh…Ronald said you'd done something like this before, correct?" They had returned to the front of the café now, both standing behind the counter. Katie tried to tie the strings of the apron Carl had given her as she answered.

"Yes. I worked for my grandfather, Wallace. He owned his own café and bar. I was a waitress, and I did the cooking, when he needed me to." Her forehead wrinkled in concentration as the strings slipped from her grasp once again. "I'll admit, I'm not so good at pastries, though."

"That's fine. You can learn, and anyway, I'll handle most of the cooking and baking. I just need someone to cover the tables…" He stopped, watching her struggle a few moments longer. "Here, let me get that for you."

It was subtle, but he saw her blush. "Sorry," she said, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh. "I don't know why, but I feel so nervous. My hands are shaking."

"It's okay, you'll do fine," he replied automatically—it was always his instinct to try to alleviate anxiety. He crossed the room and stood behind her, taking an apron string in each hand. Her shoulders hunched and her back stiffened as he tied a neat knot, as though she were uneasy with his proximity.

"Why did you hire me?" She kept her back to him, so he couldn't see her expression, but her tone sounded serious and assertive.

He let his fingers drop to his sides and began drumming the sides of his legs nervously. "Um—well—" he stuttered meaninglessly, taken aback by her question.

She turned to face him, revealing her mouth pinched by a worried frown. "Are you doing Ronald a favor?" Now her voice wavered slightly, but it remained grave.

"I needed a waitress," Carl answered, finding it hard to meet her eyes. "That's why I hired you."

"Are you telling the truth?"

Katie's question gave him pause. Yes, he'd be lying if he said that Ronald's request had nothing to do with why he hired her. But he also couldn't say that it was the only reason. There was something compelling about her, her preternatural aura both startling and charming at the same time.

"You're qualified for this job, Katie," he said as sincerely as he could. "I'm depending on you now, so please do your best."

He saw the relief slacken her face, softening her features into a moldable smile that made him feel as though he'd done a good deed. "Thanks," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Just as Carl sensed that this was significant—that the two of them were having what some would call A Moment—there came a rattle and a ding as the cash register's drawer embedded itself deep into his side.

Katie jumped at the noise and then clapped a hand over her mouth when she saw clutch at his side and curse. "Oh my gosh! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he grumbled, shoving the drawer shut. He rubbed at the sore spot near his hip, imagining that if this kept up, sooner or later he'd have a lovely drawer-shaped bruise tattooed across his stomach. "I'll have Louis take a look at it later, see if it can get fixed. For now, just try to avoid standing in front of it."

She kept her hand pressed to her mouth, staring at him with wide eyes, until she unexpectedly burst into laughter, the ethereal sound gushing forth, making Carl forget everything else. Because for that moment, he saw what she must have looked like carefree, without whatever sickness was clouding her mind—her eyes clear and narrowed by her smile, her head thrown back as her laugh bubbled out, her whole body losing its tension—for that moment, she didn't look like a scared and confused girl who felt trapped in another time. She looked like Katie, eighteen-years-old, who liked being a waitress, whose biggest problems were that she didn't know how to bake and couldn't tie her own apron strings.

"It's almost nine," Carl said, more gruffly than he meant to, but her sudden unrestraint unsettled him—hell, nearly everything she did unsettled him, to be honest—and he was eager to push things back into the confines of a professional relationship, which meant no more epiphany-inducing laughter from either of them. "That's when we open, and the morning rush starts soon after. So be ready."

Katie quickly sobered up, standing up as tall as her five feet would allow. "Yes, sir," she responded solemnly, so solemnly that he half-expected her to salute. The thought made him smile, which he cleverly disguised by hiding his mouth behind a cough and a fist.

x x x

"Jeez, and you do this every day?" Katie fanned herself, her cheeks flushed from the first taste of her new job. "Grandpa's place never got this busy."

The café had cleared out now that it was two thirty, which meant they just had to hold down the fort until closing at six. It had been a fairly smooth day; Katie hadn't made any serious blunders, and had actually eased Carl's workload. Overall, a definite success.

"Ready to quit yet?" he joked, grabbing the broom and dustpan that lay against the wall. Katie plopped down at one of the tables.

"Not at all," she said, shaking her head vehemently. Her hair had come loose in strands, some sticking out haphazardly and other pieces delicately framing her face. A light brown stain blossomed down her white apron front—likely from the tea she'd spilled on her way out of the kitchen during the lunch rush. Thankfully the tea had been iced, so she wasn't burned, and no one but Carl had seen it happen. Even the glass containing the tea had escaped unbroken.

"Do you like working here?" he asked, and as soon as he did he realized that he truly cared about her opinion. With Ellen, he always felt like she'd helped him out of obligation. She never seemed to understand why the café meant so much to him. He waited for Katie's answer expectantly, a part of him hoping very much that maybe she would get it, would maybe even feel the same way he did.

"Like it?" She appeared truly surprised by the question. "I love it! It's amazing to watch you work."

He let out an unconscious, quiet sigh of relief, unaware he'd even been holding his breath. "That's great—thank you very much." He felt himself blush a little as her compliment sunk in.

"I mean it though—I can't believe how good you are. I swear you know everyone!" she continued, impassioned and genuine.

"Well, it's a small town," he said modestly, though he felt instantly pleased by her ardor.

"But you've got every single order memorized! Like when that woman came in, the one with the short pink hair, you knew—"

"Liz. Every now and then she stops in the mornings for tea and a muffin. That's easy."

"Or the old man with the crease over his eyes that makes him look like he's constantly angry—"

"Saibara. At first glance, you'd think he'd be a black coffee kind of guy, but he likes a glass of milk with his sweet potato pie. He doesn't come in so often because Doctor Alex says he has to watch his cholesterol."

Katie shook her head and smiled. "See what I mean? It's more than just orders. You _know_ these people."

"It's only because I've seen them so many times," Carl insisted, waving off her praise. "You'll pick it up in no time. You've done a good job so far."

She shrugged like she wasn't so sure, but looked grateful for his flattering remark. "Thanks. I don't know if I could ever be like you, though."

An undemanding silence settled over them, and for a moment they both seemed content to listen to the gentle swishing sound the broom's bristles made against the tile. Finally, desiring to get the conversation going again, Carl asked casually, "So, what was Sugar Valley like?"

Her guard went up immediately, he could tell by the look on her face. She didn't trust the intention behind his question. Talking about where she was from came too close to the elephant in the room—her alleged time travel. "Sugar Valley was nice," she said simply. "Much smaller than this town."

Carl chuckled good-naturedly. "That's hard to imagine—Flowerbud Village seems so small to me. I'm from the city, so…" He glanced over at Katie and saw she was staring intently at the ground, at the spot he'd just swept. It didn't look like she was really listening. "Katie? Is everything okay?"

She kept her eyes focused on the floor. "I…I know what you're trying to ask me. Just go ahead and ask it."

"I don't know what you—"

"Please," she pleaded, her gaze flickering to meet his for just a moment. "Ask. Get it over with."

Carl swept the last of the crumbs into the dustpan and dumped it into the nearby trash can. He set the broom and pan back against the wall and took the seat across from Katie. "I have to admit, I am curious about what you said before…"

"About the time travel," she clarified. The expression on her face was carefully blank, as though she was working very hard not to show how she really felt.

"Yes. About the…the time travel."

Katie took a deep breath. "It's as I told you before. I'm not supposed to be here. This is the future, and I'm from the past."

"But…but what makes you think that? How did you get here?"

She squirmed in her chair, clearly uncomfortable, but at the same time, eager to get out her story. "It just happened one day. I woke up, and everything was different. Wrong. It wasn't how it was supposed to be. Grandpa, he was…" She shuddered, as though recalling some past horror. "He was dead. And I realized that somehow, I'd been thrust into the future. I mean, he'd been sick for a long time, but I could've saved him. I can still save him. I just need to go back. I need to find the time machine and go back."

"Where is the time machine?" He felt a pit forming in his stomach.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice hoarse. She seemed close to tears. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly and she pressed her lips together.

"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, realizing how much he'd upset her. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to—"

"No, don't worry about it," she told him with her eyes still closed. "I'm fine. I just miss home, that's all. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. It's okay."

They sat there until Katie's distress had passed and she got up to finish the sweeping. All the while, Carl sat and watched and thought about how much time he spent telling people it was okay, when sometimes it really wasn't, not one bit.

x x x

The week went by much faster than Carl expected.

"So what's this I hear about a fireworks festival?" Katie asked as she vigorously wiped down a table. It was closing time, so they were straightening the place up. "It's supposed to be tomorrow, right?"

"You probably know more about it than me," Carl answered, setting chairs upside down on the tables that were already clean. "All I know is it's always on the last Saturday of August, at the beach."

"You don't go?" She stopped washing and looked at him, her head cocked to the side and her hand still tightly clenched, pressing the rag against the table's surface.

He paused briefly before giving his reply. "Well…no. I just moved here at the beginning of last summer, and I didn't have anyone to go with at the time. I was still the new guy." Ellen hadn't asked him out until the fall, and he hadn't had the guts to ask Eve, the barmaid of the Moonlight Bar (he worked there for a short period before he opened his own café; she never gave him a second glance). He shook off the disappointing memory before continuing. "Anyway, it's more of a couples thing. And fireworks don't really interest me."

"Oh. Guess I'm in the same boat as you were, then," Katie said, hesitating before she started wiping tables again, this time with a little less zeal. "I mean, as the new girl and everything."

"You can still go, you know," Carl told her, grabbing a nearby mop and sloshing it down on the floor. "If you really want to, you should."

"I don't know…I wouldn't want to go alone…"

"I'm sure there's someone you could ask," he said thoughtfully as he mopped. "Who have you met so far?"

She stopped working again, this time leaving the rag on the table. She stuck her hands in her apron pockets and stared at her feet. "Well, you. That's about it."

"Really?"

"Really." She seemed embarrassed and kept her eyes directed downward.

Carl blew out a breath, trying to think of a solution. Clearly, this fireworks festival was important to her. She probably felt really lonely, but at the same time, she didn't know how to join in with the rest of the town. It would probably be a good opportunity for her to socialize…

"Well, what if I went with you?" He swallowed, almost wanting to take the question back. What was he doing?

Her head jerked up immediately. "Really? Do you mean it?" She looked absolutely ecstatic, and Carl quickly forgot his regret.

"Yeah, of course," he told her with a smile. "We'll meet up beforehand, let's say…tomorrow night at the square, six o'clock?" Then something occurred to him. "Um…will it be okay with Ronald if you go?"

She frowned, suddenly looking serious. "I'm an adult, you know. I don't need his permission to go see fireworks. Just because you guys think I'm crazy doesn't mean I can't handle it." She said it matter-of-factly, without a trace of bitterness, which didn't exactly ease Carl's worries.

"Okay, okay, you're right," Carl replied hastily, wanting to avoid confrontation, and more importantly, the topic of time travel. "So six o'clock. Town square. Tomorrow night. Right?"

Katie beamed, satisfied by this answer. "Right."

x x x


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the wait, thanks for the patience.

This chapter was a bit emotionally intense for me to write, haha. But it was a good reminder of how much I enjoy this fic. :) Feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading.

x x x

**Chapter three**

Of course, Carl was late and Katie was exactly on time.

The reason for his lateness was a wardrobe malfunction—he had absolutely no idea what to wear. Normally that sort of thing wasn't a problem for him; he rarely went anywhere besides the café (which some people probably found a tad pathetic), and so he was virtually always in uniform. He owned "regular" clothes, of course, but for some reason, the thought of being seen in them by Katie, who up until this point had only seen him in his café apparel, made him incredibly self-conscious.

However, he knew going in his black waistcoat and red bow tie would be too absurd, so after much deliberation, he finally forced himself into a pair of faded jeans and a plain grey t-shirt. A t-shirt he didn't notice was a little tight on him—he _had_ been eating a lot of pastries recently; perhaps that was it—until just before he arrived at their meeting place, the town square.

_Too late to change now,_ he thought glumly with a glance at his watch. It was already seven minutes past six. He walked rapidly across the square, pulling down his shirt as far as he could, hoping that its slightly insufficient size wasn't conspicuous.

He forgot all about his clothing troubles, however, as soon as Katie came into sight. Her hair, released from the ponytail she trapped it in at work, billowed flame-like from her head and down past her shoulders, the encroaching dusk providing her curls with an auburn hue. Her dress, gauzy and white and patterned with eyelets, skimmed her knees.

"You're late," she told him, her small hands clutching at fabric of her dress. She smiled coyly. "You shouldn't keep a lady waiting."

"You're right," he answered with a dry mouth. He momentarily found it hard to swallow, to even speak. "I'm sorry."

Suddenly a dainty arm curled around his own, linking them at the elbow. The jolt of his heart at the sudden contact seemed to rattle every other organ in his body. Carl pulled away almost instantly.

Her wounded look compelled him to give some sort of explanation, even though he couldn't quite explain his own behavior himself. "It's just…you're my employee," he said uncertainly, avoiding her eyes. "It wouldn't be appropriate if the rest of the town saw us like that."

"Hm. I get it," she said, and started off away from him, striding rapidly across the square. He didn't follow immediately, instead just watching. Her irritation was evident in her scrunched shoulders and stiffly held back, and the way she marched so resolutely. He smiled at the sight, yet another one of his baffling actions. Just then she stopped and looked back at him. "Slowpoke," she declared, before huffing off again. Carl's smile widened as he walked quickly to catch up, not slowing until he reached her side.

x x x

Flowerbud Village's fireworks festival reminded Carl of the carnivals he'd gone to during his childhood. There were booths set up, for cotton candy and soda, and games involving beanbags and plastic rings and balls, with various stuffed animals for prizes. The air was draped with a thick hot popcorn smell that was almost dizzying in its odorous power. Strings of yellow lights hanging from the booths winked at the pair invitingly.

"There sure are a lot of people here," Katie whispered, her words almost a breath.

"Most of the town showed up," Carl said in agreement as he glanced around at the crowd. A few people were glancing their way, but other than that, the two hadn't drawn much attention. Yet.

Katie started forward, pushing her way forward towards the booths, and Carl impulsively reached out and touched her shoulder to stop her.

"Wait, let's not get separated." His words gave her a look of annoyance.

"Why not? It's not like we'll get lost. Besides, I was going over to Ronald's booth."

"Ronald?" Carl's eyebrows jumped up at that. "He has a booth here?"

She nodded, facing forward again and resuming her route through the thin crowd. People stepped to the side as she brushed past, each person taking in her unearthly appearance with wide eyes. Katie didn't even seem to notice the stares.

"Ronald!" she said jovially, the line dissipating as she stepped right to the front. Ronald was already engaged in conversation with a young man, but paused to wink at Katie.

"Look who we've got here, Katie," he said, gesturing to the person he'd been talking to. "It's Joe, from Sugar Valley. He tells me his brother Kurt's around here somewhere, as is old Woody and his granddaughter…oh yes, hello, Carl. How are you?"

"Fine," Carl said, nodding in answer to Ronald but looking at Katie. She'd gone perfectly still, not even blinking. He couldn't read the expression on her face, but he sensed it wasn't good.

"Hi Katie, long time no see," Joe said, smiling and stepping forward—too close, Carl thought. He stared at the space between the tips of Joe's shoes and Katie's little toes, tucked into sandals. "What a coincidence, huh, that we all ended up here?"

"You know each other?" Carl cut in, and Joe started, like Carl had snuck up on him. Up until that point, Carl had never really had an opinion on the boyish fisherman, but now he was speedily coming to the conclusion that he didn't like him at all, not one bit.

"Yes, we all used to live in the same village," Joe answered, and Carl saw his eyes travel down Katie and then back up, lingering a few times on the journey.

Katie still hadn't spoke, but she blushed under Joe's wandering glance. And not necessarily in a bad way, Carl noted with disgust. However, she wasn't looking at Joe, but rather focused on something behind them all, towards the beach, where the waves crashed into the shoreline.

"We've got a lot of catching up to do," Joe said, sidling up to Katie, his hand creeping around her back to rest lightly against her hip. "I heard about your granddad…"

Katie jerked slightly then, like she'd finally woken up, but Joe was already leading her away, talking low so Carl couldn't catch what he said next.

"Is that okay? Does he even know about her—?" Carl started to ask, maddened by the fisherman's brashness.

"He doesn't know, but it's fine," Ronald said, though even he didn't seem entirely sure. "Katie's loved that boy from afar for years. Let the two kids have their fun."

"Kids?" For some reason, the word pricked at him. It made him feel old, like there were not merely years but light years between him and Katie. "How old is Joe, anyway?"

"Nineteen. Just a year older than Katie."

"Hmph. Is that how old kids are nowadays?" Carl said under his breath, willing himself to think that his seven years over Katie wasn't such a big deal after all.

"What was that?" Ronald peered at him curiously, having honestly not heard him.

"Oh nothing." Carl craned his neck and stood on tip-toe, but he still couldn't catch a glimpse of Katie or Joe.

Ronald let out a chuckle then and waved his hand. "Relax. You're acting like a father right now. Just let it be."

Carl held his tongue, not wanting to say anything to illustrate that his jealousy was not father-like at all, but something altogether different.

x x x

Carl disciplined himself and swore to keep to the booth area for the rest of the night, lest he lose his head and try to spy on Katie and Joe. He talked to the fellow festival attendees, acting just as courteous as he was when he played the part of café owner, but he kept glancing at his watch, watching an hour creep by. _They've got a lot to catch up on,_ he reminded himself, once the second one had almost passed. _They're taking their time, that's all._

But then he caught a glimpse of that star-spangled bandana, moving through the crowd alone, and his stomach hardened.

"Hey, where's Katie?" he said, tapping Joe on the shoulder. The younger man turned slowly, like he was in no hurry at all.

"Oh, she said she needed a moment," Joe replied, his smile untroubled. But he offered no further explanation.

"'Needed a moment'? What does that mean? Where did she go? How long ago was that?" Carl focused on keeping his voice calm and his words evenly spaced, a balancing act to keep his mind from speculating all the possibilities.

Joe shrugged, an infuriating gesture. "Not sure, really. An hour, maybe?"

"An hour?" Carl began, but he stopped himself, decided to change the subject to a more important one. "What happened, exactly, that made her 'need a moment'?"

Joe looked up, as if to ponder this question thoroughly. "Hm. Well, she seemed okay at first. A little quiet, so I did most of the talking. Odd, because she'd never been shy before."

"So _what happened_?" Carl prodded through clenched teeth.

"It was when I tried to bring up Wallace—you know, her dead granddad? She got very emotional, and that was when she left."

"She's in mourning, you idiot!" The volume of Carl's voice hit Joe's face like a slap. Carl knew people were looking at them now, so he tried to quell his anger, searching for the source so that he could stop it. But it was hard to find, all muddled up now with his worry for Katie. "I just need to know where she went."

Joe pointed, his eyebrows so high they nearly disappeared underneath his bandana. "Over there, towards the shore."

Carl started in that direction, saying "thanks" over his shoulder as an afterthought.

There were already a few people gathered there, their expectant faces turned skyward, waiting for the fireworks. But none of them were Katie.

He moved further down the shoreline, away from the festivities, where everything was dark and quiet. And that's when he saw the stark white of her dress, abruptly luminous against the gray sand and dark ocean.

"Katie!" he called to her, and she turned her head toward him as he jogged up to her. He wasn't sure what he'd predicted her reaction to be, but it wasn't what he got. Her face crumpled and she let out a sad, desperate wail that chilled him. He instinctively reached for her, but she pulled violently away.

"No, no, no, no, no," she moaned, crouching to the ground and grabbing at her hair. "No, no, no. I thought I went back. Why are you here? I thought I was back."

"Katie, Katie, what's going on?" He dropped to his knees so he could be at eye level with her. "Did Joe say something—?"

"The lake, the lake!" she howled, gesturing wildly to the water. "I was looking for the lake! Where did it go? Where am I?"

"Katie, you're here. It's me, Carl. You're with me in Flowerbud Village." He hoped it would orient her, but instead, her sobs intensified. He looked over his shoulder where the festival lit up the beach, knowing he had to do something. "Katie. I need you to come with me."

"No!" she yelped, jumping to her feet, and Carl stood up as well.

"Katie, you have to." He took a step toward her, and she started backing away.

"No," she said again, but he put his arm around her and lifted her over his shoulder anyway, as though she were a sack. She pounded his back with her fists, but her thumps hit weakly, like she wasn't really aiming to hurt him, and after a few moments, she went limp.

Now Carl was at a loss. He didn't want to bring her back to where everyone else was because it would create a scene, but he wanted to tell Ronald what was happening. He turned around, still holding Katie, and was briefly relieved by the sight before him. Miraculously, Ronald was running toward them at that very moment.

"Joe told me," Ronald said once he was close enough, his breath heaving between his words. "I should've thought that she might…I wasn't careful enough."

There was a silence, and Katie sniffled but didn't speak.

"Thank you," Ronald told Carl, and he could see the lines of exhaustion in the man's face. He looked very much like a father then, and it made Carl feel foolish for behaving so selfishly that night.

"I'll help you get her home," Carl said, starting towards town and away from the festival grounds. He heard Ronald's feet shuffle behind him as they made their way across the sand.

x x x

"Thank you again," Ronald said to Carl in the hallway outside of Katie's bedroom. Carl had already deposited her in her bed, but he could still feel her body pressing against his shoulder like a phantom weight. "I'm glad Katie has people looking out for her."

"She—she said something about a lake," Carl said, not wanting to come off as intrusive in his curiosity. "When I found her. First she said she thought she was back, and asked me why I was there." The memory of how she'd been so unhappy to see him, the way she'd recoiled from his touch, stung him. "Then she said was looking for a lake."

Ronald sighed and scratched the back of his neck, his whole being looking weary. "There was a lake by the café she and her grandfather had back home. Seeing Joe must have confused her, made her think she'd gone back in time."

"Will she be okay?"

"She should be back to normal once she wakes up," Ronald replied, and then laughed with bitter irony. "Back to normal meaning, of course, that she's back to thinking she needs a time machine."

Carl smiled feebly, because he felt obligated to. Ronald walked him to the door and slapped Carl on the back. "Don't take what she said personally."

"Hm?" Carl looked at him questioningly and saw his expression soften as he answered him.

"When she gets into those fits, that's not the real Katie, but she's there somewhere, deep down. And the real Katie was glad you were there to rescue her, I know it."

Carl looked down at the ground and swallowed. The phantom weight was still there, but now it felt like it was pressing on his chest. "Good night, sir."

"Good night."

x x x


	4. Chapter 4

This is a slightly shorter chapter, with a lot less action, but I hope you still like it. I'm pretty fond of it myself.

As always, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading.

x x x

**Chapter four**

When Katie didn't show up exactly on time the next day, like she normally did, Carl suspected that she wasn't going to show up at all. Maybe she hadn't recovered as swiftly as Ronald had thought she would. Maybe she was going to quit.

But then the door swung open and Katie strolled in, her hair returned to its ponytail, her sundress replaced with a black skirt. She walked right up to him, where he was standing next to a table, taking down chairs. He didn't say anything at first, but when she seemed to be waiting for him, he finally spoke.

"How are you, Katie?" he asked, careful not to sound condescending or worried, but simply casual.

"Fine," she said, but she stayed rooted in place, that impatient look still on her face.

"Uh…" Carl began, unnerved by her apparent anticipation of something unbeknownst to him.

"Well?" Katie prompted, her eyebrows up and the corners of her mouth turned down.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to lecture me for being late?"

"Oh, I—" He hadn't planned on it; he figured the last thing Katie needed was to be yelled at, especially after the night she'd had. But then he recognized what she was doing: trying to make things normal again. "Yes, I suppose I should."

She seemed to stand a little straighter, bracing herself for the onslaught.

"You've only been at this a week, you know. Not even, come to think of it—you started on a Wednesday, didn't you, and it's only a Sunday. Less than a week, and you're already late? The restaurant business thrives on timing, every aspect of it, from the time you make the food to the time that it's put on a plate for the customer. Haven't you noticed that by now? For instance, you can't keep a cake in the oven too long, can you? Well? Can you?"

"No, sir," Katie said solemnly, shaking her head.

"And you can't keep a customer waiting, correct?"

"That's right, sir." This time an emphatic nod.

"Well, then don't keep me waiting. Is that clear?"

Another nod. "It's clear, sir."

"Good. Now start setting out menus, will you?" Katie nodded a third time and then scurried off to fetch the menus. Carl turned back to the chairs and busied himself to hide his smile.

x x x

It was during the lunch rush that Carl's new least favorite person walked in.

Katie was busy with customers, and thankfully Joe wasn't stupid enough to bother her while she was working, so instead he came over to the counter, where Carl stood.

"Hey." Joe greeted him, like they'd been buddies forever. Carl resented him for it.

"How may I help you?" he asked stiffly, keeping one eye on Katie, who hadn't yet noticed Joe's presence.

"I was actually wondering if I could talk to Katie," he said, shifting his weight, and it was then that Carl noticed he held something behind his back. Leaning slightly to the side to get a better look, he realized it was flowers. He tried to hide his disgust and coughed.

"Ahem. Well. We're incredibly busy at the moment, but her break's in a half hour, so feel free to come back then." He spoke curtly, hoping that Joe would take the hint.

"I'll just wait here, if that's okay." Joe kept on smiling, apparently unaware of Carl's restrained malice. Carl gritted his teeth.

"Do you plan on ordering anything?"

"Ah, of course. Just a coffee."

Carl punched the keys of the cash register with vigor, each one loudly clacking with every irritated twitch of his finger. At least he didn't have to worry about the cash register turning on him anytime soon; he'd finally gotten it repaired by Ann's father.

"I'll have it ready for you in a moment." The sound of Carl's own saccharine tone that he used on customer's grated on his nerves.

As he poured the coffee, he watched Joe take a seat at a table. Then Katie finally spotted him. Her whole body froze, like it had at the fireworks festival, and Carl tensed, preparing himself to intervene, but then she suddenly relaxed, like the strings holding her taut had been cut. She walked over to the table with a smile, her face flushed, and said something to Joe. Carl was too far away to hear, but he kept watching. Joe said something back, and she leaned on the table, giggling at whatever he'd told her.

Carl felt the anger he'd felt the night before rise up in him again, more intensely than before. He set the coffee pot down and snatched up Joe's coffee, ready to march over to the table where the two were talking. But then he stopped.

What was he doing? A grown man, about ready to throw a tantrum, and over what? He took deep breaths, reminding himself of what was important. Joe was a customer, and needed to be treated as such. On top of that, he was a friend of Katie, and apparently had the capacity to make her smile, and giggle, and blush—and anyway, he didn't need Carl's approval. Katie's should suffice.

He walked calmly over to the table and set the cup in front of Joe, causing both of them to jump at his arrival. Katie shot him a guilty look, obviously expecting him to scold her for talking on the job. She held the bouquet Joe had brought in her hands. Carl shoved down his last violent impulse that the sight provoked in him and plastered on a smile.

"You know Katie, it's about time for your break, isn't it? I'll take over for now, don't worry about it."

She looked wary, not trusting that he wasn't being sarcastic. "Really?"

"Really," he affirmed, patting her shoulder. "You two take as long as you like."

x x x

"Whatever happened to the cute little brunette you had working here?"

This question came from Saibara. He sat at a table in the corner by himself, and he'd just finished off his usual slice of pie and glass of milk. Carl was clearing away his empty dishes.

"Who?" Carl asked, genuinely unknowing for a moment. He was distracted by Katie and Joe, who he'd been watching for the last thirty minutes. Their conversation showed no sign of slowing down. Well, he'd told them to take as long as they liked, hadn't he?

"The girl, you know, your old waitress? I thought she was sick, but it's been so long now. Weren't you two dating?"

"Oh, oh, you mean Ellen." Carl sighed and set down the plate and glass, and then set himself down in a chair. The lunch rush was over, and he needed a break, especially since he'd done all the work without the help of Katie. "I'm surprised the town isn't lit up about it. You know how people gossip here."

"I don't listen to gossip," Saibara said gruffly. "And I don't get out much. Just trek from my house to here every now and then for your pie."

"I appreciate that."

"Well, you're not getting out of it that easy. Go on, tell an old man a story."

Carl tipped back in his chair so that it rested on only two legs. "Ah, it's not so interesting. Ellen and I broke up, so she quit."

"You broke up with her?" Saibara clarified.

"No, she broke up with me. Said I cared more about work than about her." It was the first time he'd thought about Ellen since their break-up, and it gave him a strange twinge to do so.

"They always complain about that." Saibara's face suddenly clouded with surprising emotion, and for a second he felt like they were kindred spirits, but then it was gone. "Anyway, what about the new girl?"

"That's Katie."

"And?"

"And what?" Carl got nervous for a second, wondering if maybe he'd noticed how strange Katie was, and was about to try to bring it up. What was he supposed to say? Katie's illness seemed like a private matter.

"And, if you're going to make me ask: do you make it a habit of going after your employees?"

Carl lost his balance momentarily but righted himself at the last second, all four chair legs hitting the ground with a loud scraping noise. Katie and Joe didn't even glance in his direction.

"I don't think I know what you mean," he mumbled.

"Don't try to fool me. I was young once, and I've seen the way you look at her. You're staring at her right now."

"Am not," Carl answered childishly, hurriedly tearing his gaze away from Katie and back to Saibara.

"Well, all I can say is I sort of miss the old one. Nothing wrong with this one, but she's got a fire in her eyes. You ought to be careful."

"Will do," Carl said, smiling at him and getting to his feet. "I hope you enjoyed your meal."

"It was alright," Saibara told him, and Carl nodded his thanks, picking up the empty dishes once more.

x x x

Joe finally left thirty minutes after that, and as Katie walked him to the door, he heard him tell her he'd be back again soon. When the door shut, she slumped against it and sighed happily, but as soon as she caught Carl looking at her, she snapped to attention.

"Sorry about that," she said awkwardly, tracing the petals of the flowers still clutched in her hand. "I know I took a longer break than usual, and right during lunch rush…"

"Oh no, it's fine. Slow day," Carl said as he swept the café, now empty besides the two of them.

There was a long silence, in which Katie stood and Carl swept. Carl felt like he was held underwater, his lungs burning, burning, burning with the one question he had to ask.

"So, what did you guys talk about?" He realized how invasive it sounded as soon as he said it out loud, but he hadn't meant it that way—though, on the other hand, he wasn't sure how he'd meant it in the first place.

"Oh, just things," she answered vaguely, still fiddling with the flowers. "It felt good to talk to someone from back home."

"What were the flowers for?"

"An apology," Katie said, her voice turning just a bit brittle. "For…for what happened last night."

"That was nice of him."

"He _is_ nice," she rejoined, her tone abruptly gaining strength and becoming almost defensive.

Carl rolled his eyes with his back to her so she couldn't see. "So, he'll be back?"

"Yes, I think so. And maybe I'll go visit him every once and a while."

The broomstick thwacked against one of the chair legs as he replied. "Just make sure it's during your breaks. Today was an exception."

"I know," she said, and then amended, "I mean, yes, sir."

He finally looked her in the eye, and found she was staring right back at him. He felt that the tension between them manifested as heat, a heat that creeped up under his collar and agitated every part of him. Carl remembered the fire Saibara had spoken of.

"There's dishes to be done," he told her. Immediately, she set Joe's bouquet down on a nearby table and walked purposefully towards the back, where the kitchen was, without another word.

Once she was gone, Carl went to the counter, where a vase of flowers sat. He took out the flowers and dropped them into the trash. Before he closed the lid, he stared at them sitting in the garbage can amongst all of the actual garbage, and recalled how Ellen had insisted on keeping flowers out on the counter. She'd always been the one to set out new ones when the old ones wilted, and now that she'd left, the flowers had turned brown.

He shut the lid of the can and then filled the vase with the flowers that Katie had received. After he'd finished, he went to the kitchen to give her a hand with the dishes.

x x x


	5. Chapter 5

I know these chapters seem to be getting shorter and shorter, but I can promise you, the next one will be very long. I think. Or at least, longer than the past couple chapters have been.

I don't have much to say about this one. Probably because of it's brevity, haha.

Hope everyone had a nice holiday.

x x x

**Chapter five**

It wasn't like the two of them had gotten into a fight, exactly, but now things definitely felt different between Carl and Katie, at least for Carl.

Joe came again on Monday, during Katie's lunch break, and Wednesday Carl had to hear all about how she and Joe had gone to the inn for lunch with her old friends from Sugar Valley, Gwen and Kurt and Bob.

By the time five o'clock rolled around, things were grinding to a halt, customer-wise. Carl and Katie sat across from one another at one of the tables.

"Yuck, these cookies taste disgusting," Katie said, reaching for another. She was eating from a tray of cookies that Carl had burned by accident that morning.

"I don't know why you insist on eating them. I said you could throw them away." He tried not to sound so snappish, but his patience was wearing thin. It truly bothered him to no end, hearing about how all the fun she'd had with Joe and the others. He should've been glad for her, of course—she hadn't said a word about time travel since the fireworks festival. It was as though she were improving; she no longer got that lost look that loomed over her person from time to time. But even that, the fact that she was getting better, bothered him in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

Katie chewed thoughtfully on the cookie and then, after swallowing, declared, "You've been in a sour mood all morning."

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you."

"I'm not. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong."

"But are you?" Yet another scorched sweet popped into her mouth.

"Am I what?" He grew tired of her questions.

"Are you fine?"

"Of course I am."

Katie pressed her lips together, clearly not believing him, but that was when the door jangled and swung open to reveal Ellen.

Carl got to his feet out of habit—it was something his father had taught him, to stand when a woman entered the room. But he didn't walk over to greet her. Surprise had him rooted to the spot, and so she came to him.

"Carl…" she began, and as if she'd just then noticed Katie's presence, she turned to address her as well. Her smile was tight, Carl noted. "Oh, hello. Your name is Katie, right?"

Katie nodded, her mouth open slightly as she surveyed Ellen.

"I'm Ellen," she said hesitantly, when she got no audible response from Katie.

Carl wondered how Ellen had known Katie's name. She hadn't set foot inside the café since their break-up, but he figured that word had spread somehow. He hoped no one was talking about what had gone on at the fireworks festival.

"Ellen," Carl said, his voice sounding strange, not the way he wanted it to sound when he was talking to his ex. Weak, almost. "Is there something…?" He trailed off, unsure of how to word the question.

"It's…I wanted to talk to you." Her eyes flickered nervously over to Katie. "About a…private matter."

Carl nodded, turning to Katie now. "Of course, of course. Katie?"

She still kept looking at Ellen. "Yeah?"

"You can have the rest of the night off, all right?"

Now she was looking at him, a frown brewing. "But, there's still an hour before—"

"It's fine, Katie. Go ahead."

"But you'll have to close by yourself—"

"It's _fine_, Katie," he said again, much more firmly this time.

She looked affronted, but got to her feet. As an afterthought, she grabbed the cookie tray. "I'm taking these. I'll bring the tray back tomorrow."

"Okay. See you then," Carl said, rubbing his temples in exhaustion. Katie stalked out, eating another cookie on her way.

As soon as the door was shut, Carl expected Ellen to start talking, but she didn't, so Carl took charge. "Please, sit down," he said, pulling out the chair next to him.

"Thank you," Ellen replied, taking the seat. Carl sat down after her. "You were always a gentleman, Carl."

"I still am, I hope," he answered, and they both chuckled uncomfortably.

"She seems like an interesting person," Ellen said with an air of delicacy.

"She is."

"I heard that something happened at the fireworks festival. Is she okay?"

"Yes, she is."

"And are you okay?"

"Why is everyone been asking me that lately?" he asked, but quickly realized how touchy his tone sounded by the look on Ellen's face. He attempted to cover it up with a strained laugh. "Sorry, I don't mean to sound annoyed."

"Well…are you? Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course." He wondered what she meant by asking the question, what she had expected the answer to be. Maybe she thought he'd be devastated by their break-up, though really, wasn't that the whole reason she'd broken up with him in the first place? Because he hadn't cared enough?

"You're being so short with me, Carl." She smiled humorlessly. "I hope I'm not upsetting you."

"I'm just curious, I suppose, about why you came here."

Ellen's eyes widened and she laughed out of nervousness. "You never used to be that direct with me, Carl."

It bothered him, what she said, but at the same time, he couldn't deny it. She knew him well, and that meant she knew he was always one to beat around the bush. Maybe just being around Katie, who always knew how to cut through the bullshit, had changed some core part of him without him even noticing.

He didn't answer her, which prompted her to speak again. "I do I owe you an explanation. I've been thinking about…about how it ended."

"_You _ended it," he specified, not without a little bitterness.

"Right," she said, cringing slightly before she gave her nod of acknowledgment. "I…I couldn't get it—what I did—out of my mind." She paused and then suddenly blurted, "Is that how it's been for you, too? Have you been thinking about what happened?"

She looked so hopeful, and it wasn't in his interest to hurt her, despite what had happened. It never had been. "I…I guess, yeah."

This seemed to encourage her, and she talked faster now, with more assurance. "I was wrong, Carl. You're a sweet man. This café—it's your dream. It'll always come first. I can't expect to compete."

"Ellen, it shouldn't be about competing…" Her words, and the tenderness with which she said them, touched him, but she stopped him before she could say more.

"I can't deny that I felt neglected. In the beginning, you charmed me. But then I realized you were like that with all of your customers. I wasn't special." She lowered her eyes then, and the small gesture filled him with pity.

"But you _were_, Ellen," he said without thinking. He was starting to have trouble telling if he was merely comforting her, or if he actually meant what he was saying. "You _were_ special. I loved you."

Her face went slack and her eyes quickly met his once more. "You…you never told me that."

Carl swallowed and scratched his head, dropping his gaze to his shoes. "Well, maybe I should have."

They were silent for a long time after that, and Carl spent it going over what just happened. He sensed that Ellen wasn't finished, that she hadn't yet revealed her true reason for coming, but that she was about to.

He also couldn't believe the things he was saying—and moreover, how it didn't feel like he was lying, not exactly anyway.

"Carl, I came here to ask if you wanted to try again," Ellen finally said, breaking the silence.

Suddenly something deep inside of him ached, and that ache inexplicably made him think of Katie. Katie, and Joe, and that untamable anger he felt every time he saw them together, along with the childish foolishness. The foolishness that made him want to say yes to Ellen, yes to trying again, just to see the look on Katie's face when she found out. To see if it would make Katie feel any of the anger he'd felt about her and Joe.

But he didn't say yes.

"I don't think it's a good idea," he answered honestly. "Right now, I'm not so good at being a boyfriend. Not with the café, and everything else." Whatever everything else was.

"I could wait," Ellen said, and Carl cleared his throat, stalling his answer. She took the hint. "But you don't want me to."

"I think we should be friends," he told her, daring to smile. "And then we'll see."

"And then we'll see," Ellen said, echoing his words and his smile. "Okay. I can do that."

They both rose to their feet, and Carl walked her to the door, holding it open for her. She hesitated in the threshold.

"Carl?" She reached out abruptly and cupped his face with one hand.

"Yes?" He stood perfectly still, feeling her warm fingers on his own warm cheek.

"I loved you, too."

x x x

The jingling of the bell on the door as it shut behind Ellen still rung in Carl's ears long after, while he lay in bed that night. He hadn't said anything else to her, just watched her go.

Even the next morning, his thoughts still haunted him. It was like he was finally having the reaction he was supposed to have had when Ellen originally broke up with him. He couldn't stop thinking about it, just like she'd said.

"You're awfully quiet today," Katie said later that morning, after the breakfast crowd departed.

"Oh, I hope you're not going to start bothering me with that again," he responded, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I wasn't planning on _bothering _you," she huffed, obviously wounded. He sighed and backpedaled.

"Look, I've just got things on my mind lately, okay? I'm sorry if it makes me act differently."

"Is it because of that woman who came to see you yesterday?" Carl looked at Katie to find her twisting the end of her ponytail in her fingers, absorbed in her fidgeting.

"No," he said guardedly, not wanting to get into it with her.

"Who was she?"

"Someone I know."

"I thought you didn't have a girlfriend."

"I don't," he said sharply.

"Then…?" She dropped her hair and stared at him with her far too blue eyes.

"Ex," he finally conceded. "Ellen is my ex-girlfriend. We broke up."

"Really?" Katie said with a gasp, her eyebrows shooting upward. "When? I mean—um, you don't have to tell me."

"Ah, whatever, it's fine. It was…" He trailed off, trying to remember. "Oh. It was the day you applied, actually. It happened just before you showed up."

"Interesting," she mused, as though she were actually going to file away this information for some useful purpose. Carl resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. "So now you two are back together?"

"No, we're not."

"But she wants to."

"You're asking an awful lot of questions."

"Well, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she does."

"Do you?"

Carl exhaled and pressed a hand to his forehead with his eyes shut. "I don't know, Katie, I don't know. I told her we'll see. Now if you'll keep your nose out of my personal life…"

"Okay, okay, jeez." Katie sulked away to get the broom, and added as a breezy afterthought over her shoulder, "Joe asked me to the moon-viewing festival, by the way."

"Really?" Carl said as she came back. "It's a bit early for that, huh? The moon-viewing festival isn't for another two weeks."

"Well, he wants to take me, so…" She didn't say anything else as she started to sweep.

"So, does that mean you're going?"

"Now who's being nosy?"

"You're the one who volunteered the information."

"Hmph. Well, yes, it does mean I'm going. I told him yes." She seemed to be waiting for something, something Carl didn't want to give to her.

"I hope you two kids have a nice time," Carl said, and Katie stuck her tongue out at him.

x x x


	6. Chapter 6

I'm sorry for the delay. If you haven't checked my profile recently (and that's not really a surprise, haha), long story short, I had some computer problems that prevented me from getting this up, though it's been done for months. But here it is now. Chapter 7 is in the works— which happens to be the second-to-last chapter, btw— but I'm not sure when I'll be done. Hopefully soon, because I feel like this chapter is pretty uneventful.

Anyway, thanks if you're still reading this. We're almost there.

x x x

**Chapter six**

Things with Katie got better by the day, until they were back to however they'd been before. Or at least, Carl thought that they might be, if that were even possible—Katie seemed so different now. And he knew he was different, too.

Talking to Ellen again reminded him of why he'd started dating her in the first place. That undisruptive quality he'd grown to inwardly criticize now sometimes came as a comfort, especially compared to the firestorm that was Katie. With Ellen, he didn't have to worry about emotions bouncing out of control with just a word or a glance from either party.

But it was because of exactly that that he knew he didn't love Ellen, and he probably never had. As to how he actually felt about her now—well, that got hard to figure out at times. Whenever he thought of her, he felt a little sad, but then the sadness got clouded up with pictures of Katie, and then he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"Would you like to go to the moonlight festival together?"

It was one of those questions Carl knew was coming, before Ellen even opened her mouth. Before he'd even gotten to Blue Sky Ranch, in fact. He could sense as he closed up the café that day with Katie that something was different that night, though this wasn't the first time Ellen had asked him to visit her at the ranch.

"Oh, I don't know, Ellen." They stood against the fence in the field beyond her house, watching Bob herd the cows into the barn. The breeze tugged at the hem of her skirt, at his unbuttoned collar. "It's kind of a couples thing, isn't it?"

"I know that," she said, and the tone of her voice made it apparent she was embarrassed. "That's why I asked."

"I…I don't think I'm ready for that, to be honest." He knew he wouldn't ever be, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Oh." He wasn't looking at her, but the way she sounded so vulnerable made him want to squirm. "I need to know, Carl. Is it…is it someone else?"

"No, I—maybe. Maybe it is." It had finally come to this—he knew he couldn't run from it anymore.

Ellen kept a poker face, though her voice betrayed her. "It's okay. You can say it."

"All right, all right." He licked his lips, his mouth going dry at the thought of what he was about to say. "Let's just say—hypothetically speaking—that it's the café."

She was quiet for a long time. "I see. So you're going to the festival with the café?"

"No, no! You know what I mean, don't you? Isn't that why you broke up with me, because of the café, and all the time I spend on it?"

She laughed, and he realized she'd been teasing him. Of course. "Okay, okay, it's the café," she said, smiling a bit. "What about it?"

Carl grasped at his curls anxiously, feeling them scrunch in his fingers. "So it's because…the _café_ is making me so crazy right now. She—hypothetically speaking, the café is female—she just…makes me _crazy_. Oh wait, crazy, that's an awful word. I don't mean that. I'm not crazy. She isn't either. I mean, I'd like to think she's not—I'm still talking about the café, of course…"

"I don't know about the café's sanity, Carl, but I'm starting to wonder about yours. You're not making much sense right now."

"I'm sorry, you're right. Let me start over. Okay. The café." He took a deep breath, and spoke slower, though he still stumbled over his words. "She's on my mind all the time lately. It's…it's actually not very pleasant, if you'd really like to know, because it makes it hard to do—well—anything. Like my job. Or to eat. Or sleep. You know, basically everything I need to do to _live_. And every time it happens, every time I think about her—the café—I just want to be there, right next to her. For absolutely no reason at all. And I smile—it just happens—I smile just because she's there. It's…it really is crazy. There's no other word for it."

It took Carl a moment to notice his face hurt from smiling so hard. He quickly sobered up and waited for Ellen's reaction.

She was quiet a long time, so long that he began to regret saying so much, and in such a vague, silly manner, but then she said, "It sounds like you're in love, Carl. With the café, of course."

"Is that so," he murmured in wonder, taken aback by her bluntness.

"Yes."

They stood there for a while longer, even after Bob had shut the door behind the last meandering cow. The darkness stained the sky completely now, and the almost full moon watched them unabashed.

"You know, Carl, I'm jealous," she said at last, as a chilly night breeze skipped along the tips of the long grass. "I want to find the man—the café—that I'm meant to be crazy with."

He looked at her and saw she was smiling. He grinned back.

"You will, Ellen. I know it."

x x x

"All right. We've been practicing this for a few days now. Do you think you can do this on your own?"

"This was your idea," Katie said, scowling at him. "If you've changed your mind, then just say so."

"You're right, you're right," Carl said, tugging his sleeves down to his wrists and then pushing them back up to his elbows again, a nervous habit. "Okay. Let's get started."

"_I'm_ supposed to be nervous, not you," Katie grumbled under her breath as she started collecting ingredients.

She had her back to him so she couldn't see him smile. "This is my kitchen, so of course I'm nervous," he said in a stern voice, in spite of his facial expression. "Need I remind you of the Great Calloway Café Kitchen Fire of Last Week?"

She made a face at him when she turned back around, scrunching her mouth in an attempt to look indignant, but he could tell she was trying not to smile herself. "No, I remember it quite well myself, thank you."

It was early, much earlier than Katie normally came in, though Carl was used to being up early to do all of the baking before the café opened. But until now, he'd always done it alone. They'd only just started these early morning baking sessions for the past week or so. Carl had decided it was time she started doing more than just waitressing—his decision, of course, being heavily influenced by the fact that she demanded he let her do more than "sweep up the crumbs."

The day he'd hired Katie, Ronald told him she had some skills in the kitchen, though Katie herself had said she was no good at pastries. However, he now knew the former was an exaggeration and the latter a severe understatement.

The naïve Carl of one week ago decided to start her off with what he felt was a safe, simple task. He asked Katie to stick a couple cake pans in the oven—he'd already filled them and preheated the oven—and check them after twenty minutes. It took thirty-five for him to smell the smoke up at the front of the café, though he didn't consciously notice it then, and another five after that for Katie smell it too and dash to the kitchen.

It was then that Carl instituted the morning baking boot camps, to instill important habits such as setting a timer. He gave her a much more in-depth tour of the kitchen, went over all the safety procedures, and finally, over the past couple of days, they'd tackled baking cakes. He must have drilled her a hundred times until she had the recipe memorized, down to every last measurement and step.

Translating that information, however, proved difficult. As Carl observed her, he saw that Katie seemed to have no concept of staying tidy while she worked. Her hands, fumbling now to crack an egg, were absolutely coated with flour, as was half the countertop she was using.

"Oh!" she gasped, cracking the egg against the counter with too much force, so that it exploded right on the spot. Her head jerked up to look at him, and, perceiving his pained look, said with haste, "Don't worry about it. I'll clean it all up when we're done, I swear."

He merely sighed in response. She picked up another egg and raised her hand, poised to crack it, but Carl quickly stopped her.

"You're being too forceful," he said, grabbing her wrist and lowering it. "You need to be gentle. Maybe I should show you."

"You've already shown me," Katie answered, obviously frustrated—not with him, but with her own inability. "I just can't do it, I guess. Maybe we should give up. This was a bad idea."

"No, no, don't say that. I meant, let me actually _show_ you." He released his hold on her wrist and put his hand on hers, moving it and the egg over to the bowl. "First of all, if you don't know how to do it, start with cracking it on the bowl rather than the counter. It's easier that way."

"Okay." He could hear the concentration in her voice, and she seemed unaware of their awkward position—he had to stand partially behind her, his arm pressed to hers, his chin hovering near the top of her head. It made him giddy with unease, but he kept his hand steady.

"Keep your other hand on the bowl to stabilize it." Katie obeyed the instruction. "You should only have to tap it once. Do it firmly and swiftly, but don't use too much pressure. Like this—pay attention to how it feels." There was a wet cracking sound, the egg splitting perfectly across its center. "See?" He took his hand off of hers so she could drop the yolk and egg white into the bowl.

"Jeez," Katie sighed in awe, shaking her head. "You're so good at this! I wonder if I'll ever get the hang of it."

"Of course you will," he assured her in a quiet voice. He smiled and leaned against the counter next to her, looking down at his shoes. He paid close attention to how they were only inches away from hers. "You just need to practice."

Her eyes followed his gaze to the floor, and it seemed then she noticed their closeness. They looked back up at each other at the same time. Then, slowly, Katie reached up and pressed her hand hard against Carl's cheek.

"What…what are you doing?" he asked, his words distorting slightly since her hand was squishing half of his face.

She waited a second longer before taking her hand away. "I'm giving you a flour handprint."

He stared at her in silence while she smiled at him, waggling her fingers, still coated in flour, an innocent wave. "You look funny," she declared, sounding proud of her work.

Without a word, he picked up both his hands, which had been pressed against the flour-covered counter as he leaned against it, and grabbed either side of her face with his own powdered palms. "Really? Do I?"

"Yesh," she said, her lips puckering comically between the hands pressing in on her cheeks.

"It's 'yes, sir.'"

"Yesh, shir," she corrected herself, holding in a giggle. Then she reached up and took two fistfuls of his hair. He winced, though she wasn't pulling very hard.

"Oh. Tell me you're not putting flour in my hair."

"Oh, but I am." He could feel the muscles of her face underneath his hands straining to smile. He kept his face solemn and didn't budge, instead speaking in an even, ominous tone.

"Let go of my hair right now."

"You let go firsht."

"I'm your boss."

"You wouldn't fire me."

"Katie? Is this what you wanted me to see?"

Both Carl and Katie turned, a difficult task for both of them considering how tangled they were. They saw Joe at the same time. He stood in the kitchen doorway, just inside the door.

"Joe!" Katie released Carl's hair, and so Carl followed suit and dropped his hands. Their elbows and fingers brushed on the way down. "I—I forgot you were coming."

"And I didn't even know you were coming," Carl said through his teeth, smiling at the other man.

"Well, you did invite me, so…" Joe said to Katie, starting to back away. "But maybe I'll come back some other time…"

"No, no, wait!" She grabbed a nearby rag and started frantically wiping at her fingers.

"You invited him?" Carl asked her in a low voice, so that only she would hear.

"Yeah, I wanted him to see my first cake. I didn't think it would take so long, and that he'd see us…never mind." She looked back at Joe, but he was gone, the door swinging in the space he'd previously occupied.

"Oh, darn, he left," Carl muttered sarcastically, but Katie had already tossed the rag back down on the counter and ran after Joe.

x x x

Katie eventually came back after a while. Carl stayed behind in the kitchen and cleaned everything up, getting ready to start making pastries for that day. When Katie finally did return, she was oddly quiet and didn't respond to any of his attempts to get a conversation going. He eventually gave up, too frustrated to continue his cause.

It was when Katie was in the back making a fresh pot of coffee and Carl was at the front clearing tables that he happened to hear a snippet of interesting conversation.

"…Joe's been sulking the whole day. I can't even get him to pick up an ax to chop some wood. That girl really did a number on him this morning."

This was Woody, who Carl knew Joe was working for as an apprentice. He was sitting at a table with Tai.

"Katie, right?" Tai laughed when Woody nodded. "What happened?"

"He tried asking her to the moonlight festival today, but apparently she turned him down flat."

"Really? That's too bad. And kind of a surprise, since they've been spending so much time together lately…"

Carl momentarily forgot his role as stealthy eavesdropper and spoke up. "But that's not right," he exclaimed, hardly able to contain his astonishment. "Joe asked her a week ago and she said yes."

Woody's bushy white eyebrows came together together in a puzzled expression. "No, no, he told me this morning that he just asked today and she said no. You must be thinking of someone else."

Carl shook his head, but Tai already changed the subject, the two old men continuing their chat about other things as though Carl had never spoken.

x x x


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry that it took so long to get this chapter up. I hope you guys are still with me.

It's not very eventful, but it leads up to the events of the next chapter, which is also the final chapter.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.

x x x**  
**

**Chapter seven**

Carl kept the information he knew about Joe and Katie to himself. He didn't know exactly why, but he felt like he might need it for later. And whenever that opportunity presented itself, he wanted to be prepared.

Keeping the secret didn't mean he put it out of mind, however. In fact, it was just the opposite. He spent the whole week trying to figure out why Katie lied. At first, he wasn't so sure she had—perhaps Woody was the one with the misunderstanding—but then he noticed Joe had stopped showing up. Katie never commented on it, so neither did he.

And just for the sake of hypothesizing, it was possible that the reason Joe had stopped showing up was because he'd launched into a jealous rage and refused to ever speak to Katie again when he'd seen her with her hands in Carl's hair the morning she made the cookies. However, Carl was pretty sure that was just wishful thinking.

Katie seemed to grow more and more restless as the week wore on and the moonlight festival drew closer and closer. Carl kept expecting her to say something, anything that would confirm or deny what Woody had said, but she never did. Not even when it came to Thursday, the day before the festival.

That was when Carl couldn't take it anymore.

"Don't forget, we're closed tomorrow for the festival," he told her as they were wiping down the tables for the night.

"I know," she answered without looking at him.

"Guess you wouldn't forget—tomorrow's the big date with Joe, huh?"

He saw her pause, but only for a moment. "Yeah. I guess it is."

"Are you excited?"

"Yep."

"Really? That's weird."

Katie came to a full stop then. "What do you mean? What's weird?"

Carl's heartbeat quickened at the impending confrontation. "It's weird because when Joe asked you to go with him just a few days ago, you said no."

She stared at Carl, this time with no response.

"And the reason why _that's_ weird is because you had told me he asked you two weeks ago, and you said yes."

Finally, she spoke, her voice low and quivering. "So you eavesdropped on me?" He could see her face flushing—presumably with anger.

"No. Woody told me earlier this week."

"So?"

Carl felt the conversational rug pulled out from under him—he hadn't expected that response. "So? _So_?" he stumbled, groping for his next move. "So why would you lie?"

He watched her fist clench and unclench around the rag, her face still red. "Why do you think?"

More speechlessness on Carl's part. "Why do I…" he started to echo, his voice dying away.

"Come on—you can't think of one reason?"

"I don't know, to screw with me?" He felt the familiar fury Katie always seemed to invoke in him pouring through his veins, making his whole body go cold and then hot. "You're always playing games! You can't ever just say what you mean!"

"Well, what the hell do you expect me to do?" She threw the rag down on the table, but her hand shook, weakening the force so it fell limply and noiselessly. "Sorry I'm not _mature_ enough for you, Carl. Not like your stupid ex-girlfriend you've been running around with so much lately."

"Ellen?" She seemed so out of place in this conversation, and somehow that only fueled Carl's anger. "You're the one running around all the time, with that moron Joe! The guy wears a bandana, for Pete's sake!"

After a moment's pause, Katie abruptly clapped her hands over her face and her shoulders began to shake, instantly inciting a panic in Carl. What had he'd done? He'd made her cry—he'd set off one of her fits—he'd _hurt_ her—

And then she emerged behind her fingers and he saw she was laughing. "Oh, the bandana is terrible, isn't it?"

He sighed, a pressure release, and leaned back against a nearby table with a weary smile. "Yeah. It is. Christ, Katie. What are we even talking about?"

Her own smile faded away. "Me. How I lied about going with Joe." She paused. "I'm sorry about that. You're right. I was playing games."

"But _why_?" he asked, leftover frustration welling up in his voice. "What's the point?"

She shifted uncomfortably and grabbed up the rag again, twisting it in her hands. "I wanted you jealous. I wanted you to tell me not to go with Joe, because you wanted to take me." She turned away and reached up to her neck, as though she wanted to pull a curtain of hair across her face, but it was tied up in a high ponytail. Her fingers curled around nothing and then dropped back down to her side.

Carl gaped at her, and then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "That…that doesn't even make sense!"

She giggled nervously, still not meeting his eyes. "I guess it doesn't, does it?"

"I mean…how am I supposed to ask you, if you're already going with someone else? With Joe? And anyway, I thought you really liked him."

"No…" She trailed off, biting her lips with her lashes low. "I mean, he wears a bandana. For Pete's sake."

Carl's mouth twitched in a smile. "I thought you were into that."

"No. Actually, I've got a thing for curly hair."

She looked up then, but not at his eyes—he felt her gaze raised slightly to the curls springing in every direction from his scalp. He felt his head tingle, remembering how it felt when she'd run her floury fingers through his hair.

"But I suppose," she continued in a louder voice, now focusing on his face, "You're already taking Ellen tomorrow night. So the point is moot."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What?"

"Ellen…" He shook his head. "I'm not taking her."

"Oh."

"Yeah…"

"So…"

He felt the silence stretched between them like a piece of rope, each of them holding taut to one end.

Then, snap.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Aren't you going to ask me?" Katie burst out, looking floored. "I mean, do I really have to beg you? I've practically thrown myself at you! It's the least you could do! This is embarrassing!"

"Well—I—! I was trying to figure out the perfect way to do it!" He scowled at her. "Give me a break, okay?"

"It's not a proposal!" she retorted, making both of them blush. "Just say it."

"Fine." He suddenly realized they'd slowly been walking forward towards each other, until now they stood face-to-face. Or more like forehead-to-chin, thereabouts, thanks to the height difference.

"Katie…"

"Yes?"

"Will you…do me the highest honor of…accompanying me…tomorrow night…when the moon is full and high in the sky—"

Carl's antics were cut short with a swift punch to his shoulder, eliciting a pained grunt that indicated he'd taken the hint.

"Will you go with the moonlight festival to me?"

She gave him the goofiest smile, without shame or restraint, and he was sure it perfectly mirrored her own. "No bandanas?"

"No bandanas. I promise."

She laughed with her head tilted back, taking his hand with a squeeze. "Then I can't refuse."

x x x

Carl didn't kiss her right after that, though he wanted to. He felt like he was supposed to wait—for that so-called "right moment." It was silly and sentimental, like he was back in high school, but he couldn't help himself. And anyway, he knew the time would come soon enough.

He spent the whole day in agony waiting for the evening to roll around, which really made him feel like a teenager. But eventually the time came, as it always does. He'd offered to meet her at Ronald's, but she said no, with the reason that it would be too weird. And Carl agreed, with more than a twinge of relief—even though they weren't biologically related, he still saw Ronald as Katie's father. And he wasn't quite ready for Ronald's reaction to the two of them going on a date.

Instead, she came to him. He paced fervently back and forth in front of the café, half-tempted to tear his watch off and throw it away, just to keep himself from checking it every thirty seconds. But he couldn't bear not to check it. And then she finally got there, right on time, as usual.

She was beautiful, which itself wasn't a surprise, but it still knocked him senseless to see her. Her dress skimmed her thighs in a way that drew attention and invited imagination. He'd worn a nice button-down shirt, and she fingered the collar of it with a nervous giggle.

They held hands the whole way to the mountaintop, and then they kept holding hands under the moon, but eventually his hand found its way around her waist, and then he felt her hands sliding up to his shoulders, and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was the marvel of the way the moonlight so perfectly outlined the apples of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose and the tips of her lips.

And a while after that, he walked her home.

It was perfect, the way a pretty figurine of glass looks perfect, all the way up until the moment before the hammer smashes it.


	8. Chapter 8

So here it is, the final chapter. This is probably one of my favorite fics I've ever written. I got to write nearly everything I'd planned to. It's the first time I've stuck so faithfully to a plan. I wish I could've written more of Carl and Katie's story, but at the same time, this felt like a suitable length...

It was a pretty emotional story to write, especially this last chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it.

In other news... For those of you that have also read the first two parts of my Claire trilogy, I just wanted to get it out there that I am still working on the final installment and I do plan to have it posted one of these days. Like this fic, it's very dear to me and I'd like to see it to the end. :)

Thank you so much, to all the readers and reviewers out there.

x x x**  
**

**Chapter eight**

The last time Carl had gone to the clinic was for stitches. He'd sliced his finger with a knife while working in the kitchen, and it had been a foolish, amateur mistake. It wasn't the first time he'd done such a thing, and it barely even hurt, but there had been so much blood. It stained the cuff of his favorite shirt, he remembered.

There wasn't a scar, but he found himself stroking the place where he'd cut himself, running his right thumb along the side of his left index, fidgeting. Because that's what you did in waiting rooms. You jiggled your knee and wrung your hands and you dreaded.

He went over what Ronald told him again, even though he knew it wouldn't make any more sense in his head then it did when he'd heard it spoken out loud less than an hour ago, when Ronald had shown up at the café that morning instead of Katie.

She'd gone to the ocean. Last night, when he dropped Katie off at her house, she hadn't gone to bed. Or she had, but then she'd woken up. Early, around four in the morning. Ronald had heard her leave and followed her. Followed her all the way to the ocean, where she'd started screaming. He'd tried to stop her, Ronald said.

"But it was that damn time machine. She was having another one of her fits and she was looking for it, said it was at the bottom of the lake. I can only figure she meant the lake next to the café her grandpa owned, back in Sugar Valley. It's a big lake, and maybe in that moment the ocean reminded her of it, so much so that she…

"She flung herself into the water and started swimming. But she was crying so hard, and it was still dark out, and the undercurrent… Katie was never a bad swimmer, but the waves were too strong for her. I saw her head go under and it didn't come back up. My heart nearly stopped."

Carl pictured it all in his head as Ronald told the story, and he felt a tightness in his chest at the very thought of it. He couldn't imagine what he would have done, could have done, if he'd seen it himself. He was sure the fear would've paralyzed him. But Ronald had reacted right away. He waded into the water after her, and he pulled her out and dragged her onto the beach. Ray (the only thing Carl knew about him was the two times he'd come to the café, where he ordered a corn muffin and a coffee), who'd gotten up early that morning to fish, was passing by and saw the two figures at the shoreline. He knew CPR, and he'd saved Katie's life.

Carl didn't like to think about what would've happened had Ray not come along.

Ronald came back out into the waiting area then, followed by Dr. Alex. They were talking in quiet voices, but stopped when Carl jumped to his feet.

"How is she…? Is she…?" Carl struggled to find the words to ask the questions he wanted. Fear stopped him from finishing.

"She's doing fine. Some bruises where she hit the rocks underwater, but that's all. She's conscious now, and she's talking."

"Can I see her?" There was no hesitation for that question.

Ronald laughed, though it wasn't his regular full belly laugh. He clapped Carl on the shoulder. "She's all yours."

x x x

Katie looked too small for her bed, and Carl thought of the story from his childhood, Goldilocks. _This porridge is too hot. This bed is too small. _He pushed the odd stray thought from his mind.

She was smiling, and that helped. "Hey, you. I guess you know all about my little late night swim."

He approached her bedside and tentatively reached out a hand to touch her face. A dark mark blossomed on her cheek—one of her bruises. Next he saw the tubes running from IV bags down into the flesh of her wrist and it made his stomach squirm a little.

"More like early morning, from what I hear."

She laughed, but hers wasn't a normal laugh either. "I'm…I'm okay now." He noticed how her voice had a rasp to it, and he felt that chest tightness again. Her auburn head swallowed up by waves, water filling her lungs, her lips blue as she lay limp on the beach. He felt the floor shift beneath him and he gripped the railing of her bed to steady himself.

Suddenly her face crumpled. "I really thought I'd find it this time," she whispered, her wretchedness choking every word.

He didn't need to ask her what she meant. "Shh, it's okay. You don't have to talk about it." He didn't want her to talk about it, in fact. He'd never wanted to admit it, but it scared him, this side of her, and he didn't like the feeling. He'd come so close to losing her because of it—he wasn't about to risk riling her up again. He needed her to stay with him.

But the tears were already there. He watched them slide to meet her ears since she was lying down. "I know you don't believe me, but it's there. It's there, I'm telling you, it's there…oh, you should've let me…you should've let me look…"

"Please don't say that," he pleaded softly. Her eyes were shut tightly and she gave no sign that she heard him. She murmured to herself instead, words that Carl couldn't catch. "You could've drowned, Katie," he continued, louder this time. "I don't know what I'd do if you ever—if you were to—"

Dr. Alex pulled back the curtain then and Carl stepped back from the bed, feeling like he'd been caught in the middle of a wrongdoing. Katie still didn't open her eyes but instead pressed her lips together until her mouth formed a straight line.

"I'm sorry, Carl, but there's something I need to discuss with Katie. Would you mind coming back later?"

"Sure, but um…I think she might've gone to sleep or something."

Her eyes sprung open then and she stared alertly at the doctor, making a liar out of him. Carl smiled, small and weary—so she was well enough to spite him.

He said goodbye to Katie, who didn't answer, and then stepped out, pulling the curtain behind him. He was going to walk away, had no intention of lingering, but for some reason his feet stayed rooted to the floor and he stayed and he listened. He listened to Dr. Alex very closely until he couldn't bear it any longer, and then he ran.

x x x

He pounded on Ronald's door with his fists, over and over, until Ronald answered it. He lowered his hands to his sides but they remained clenched, tense like every other part of him.

"What's wrong? Is it Katie?" His bushy eyebrows were drawn so closely together in worry they nearly touched. "Did her condition change? Is she getting worse?"

It took what felt like ages for Carl to push out the words, but when he did they fell hard and cold, like pebbles dropped deliberately. No, not pebbles. Boulders. "How long has Katie had cancer?"

"Ah." It was one word, a sigh of a word, a resignation. And to Carl, it signaled the dismantling of his world, the beginning of the end.

x x x

"She told you?" Ronald asked as he brought out the cups of coffee he'd insisted on making before they talked. Carl sat at his dining room table now, his hands still balled into fists resting on his lap.

"No. I overheard." He kept his gaze on Ronald, steady and unflinching. A steaming mug was set before him wordlessly. "I was talking to Katie and then Dr. Alex came in and asked me to leave. I was outside when I heard them say it…"

"Do you take any sugar? Cream?" The interjection sounded so out of place that for a moment, Carl barely understood what Ronald was talking about. "For your coffee."

"…Right. Yes. Cream."

Ronald pushed a little pitcher of cream towards him and sat back in his chair. "So you were saying."

"Dr. Alex said something about her brain scans. About how the tumor had grown, and that the cancer was spreading." That word—cancer—felt fuzzy on his tongue. It sounded like a faraway place, something only known in pictures and stories told by other people. Something he could distance himself from, until he was far enough away that the nausea subsided and he could breathe again.

Ronald sighed deeply and his head sagged forward slightly. "I was afraid of that. But we were warned that it could happen. That it would happen."

"How long? You didn't answer me before. How long has she had it?"

"She was diagnosed about six months ago. It started with headaches. Then hallucinations, though they were so very rare. The serious symptoms didn't begin until Wally died. Her grandfather. She became very…confused. She couldn't separate the past from the present anymore."

"And so she escaped into the future," Carl muttered, thinking of Katie's words on the first day they met. _I'm not supposed to be here, _she'd told him. _I'm from the future. _"To be honest, when I first met her, I thought she was schizophrenic, or had some other mental illness." His mouth twisted into a grimacing smile. "Funny thing is, now I realize that would be so much better. Instead I find out she's dying." His voice broke on the word, the two syllables cleaved in half by his cracked and trembling tone.

Ronald's face stayed somber and creased. "She exhibits the signs of a schizophrenic, but it's the tumor in her brain that makes her act the way she does."

"Why didn't you tell me? You—you let me believe that she was just delusional. Not that she had…cancer."

"And what good would it have done if you had known sooner? It's how Katie wants it. She was never one for being pitied. There's nothing we can do but let her live for as long and as happily as she can."

"What about treatment? Earlier, when I overheard Dr. Alex—he said something about chemo. He said it wasn't too late yet, but she was running out of time. Why hasn't she ever done it?"

Ronald rubbed the stubble on his cheeks and looked off to the side. "Because she doesn't want it," he answered simply.

Carl narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean? Why wouldn't she?"

"She told me when she was first diagnosed that she didn't want to do it. Wally was on chemo at the time, for liver cancer, and it made him very sick. And it wasn't working for him. She told me she didn't want to have to live like that. To die like that. In a hospital bed, alone, away from the café. She said no matter what, she didn't want to go through with it. She made me promise. It was her decision."

"She's got a fucking brain tumor!" The words exploded out of him in a flare of rage. He heard a bang and felt a throbbing on the side of his hand, and he realized he'd struck the table with his fist. "She's nuts! How can you listen to someone like that? She doesn't know what's best for her!"

"She made the choice when she was still fully lucid, and I respect that. She'd turned eighteen by then. It wasn't up to me or Wally."

"And what about when she started losing it? When she started thinking she was a _time traveler_? Was it still up to her then?"

"I made a promise."

"Then break your promise!" Carl roared, on his feet now and breathing heavily. "I don't give a shit about a promise! She's dying and you could save her and you won't do a damn thing about it! You're letting her die right in front of you!" His eyes burned now and blurred his surroundings into one great mess of color and anguish. He wanted to cry for so many reasons. For this anger welling up in him. For Katie and the mind that was taken from her. Even for Ronald, who must've gone through the same agony Carl felt now, carried with him this misery.

"She's eighteen. She's an adult. And as long as she still has lucid moments, I don't have a say in what she does with her body. I may have appointed myself as her guardian, but I'm powerless." He stopped talking and the two stared at each other in silence. Carl felt his breathing slow and his fury fade, wearing itself out against Ronald's sturdy calm. "And even if I could do something…I don't know that I would. I watched Wally waste away with her. I was there when he finally passed. It wasn't a pretty sight. The treatments made him so sick and weak, I…I don't know if I could do that to Katie. Not if she didn't want it."

Carl dropped back into his seat again and put his hands over his eyes. "But she's _dying_."

"Don't think that I haven't struggled with this. Katie—she's been like a daughter to me. I've known her since she was a little girl. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to her. But there isn't a damn thing any of us can do."

Carl raised his head and drew in a shaky breath. "How long? How long does she have? What's the prognosis?"

"The first doctor we went to, the one that diagnosed her, thought she wouldn't make it past the first month, but she's still here and she's still fighting six months later. Every doctor will tell you something different, you know."

He knew what Ronald was trying to do, but he didn't want to be sheltered anymore. He kept his eyes on the coffee gone cold in front of him. "What does Dr. Alex tell you?"

Ronald coughed into his fist, delaying the inevitable. "When we first moved here, he thought a year from her original diagnosis. Six months. But when I spoke with him today... They took brain scans after she was brought in this morning, and, like you heard, the tumor has grown. Which means less than six months, he says. He thinks. But he doesn't know anything else beyond that. None of us can."

x x x

Less than six months. What could you do in less than six months? What good were they?

The words had inspired an instinctual reaction of dread at first, but he tried to twist that into some semblance of optimism. Doctors weren't always right. Ronald had even said himself that Katie had outlived her first prognosis. Who's to say she couldn't do it again?

But no. He wasn't fooling himself. Carl remembered how Dr. Alex sounded when he'd stood outside the curtain listening. His flimsily constructed positive thinking paled in the shadow of the gravity of Dr. Alex's words.

"You're so quiet," Katie said, offering an outstretched hand for him to hold. "Is this about earlier today? I'm sorry about that. I feel better now. You were right, we shouldn't talk about it…"

Carl took her hand and squeezed it, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He couldn't think of anything to say other than what was on his mind. It didn't even cheer him that Katie really did look better; she was sitting upright now, and she had some color in her face. It didn't matter, because she still had brain cancer. She was still dying.

"Carl? What's wrong? You don't have to worry anymore, I told you I'm fine. It's okay." _It's okay. _The same words he'd always used with everyone sounded trivial and useless and wooden as children's building blocks.

"Katie. I need to talk to you about something."

She shifted in her bed, wiggled so that she was higher up on the pillows, made herself comfortable. How could she act so naturally when she knew what she knew? "Okay. What is it?"

"I want you to try chemotherapy."

She stared at him so blankly for so long, Carl feared she was about to have another one of her episodes. But then she spoke, and when she did, her voice was clear and sure. "How did you find out?"

"You're running out of time. This isn't something you can do at the last minute, you know?"

"How did you find out?"

"I knew a guy in high school. This kid in my physics class. His uncle had cancer, but he got chemo, and he got better, Katie. It works, if you just give it a chance. I really think you—"

"How. Did you. Find out." She was angry, but only her voice betrayed her. It tripped him up, stopped him short.

"I…I overheard Dr. Alex talking to you this morning. I know that sounds bad, but—"

"You were _eavesdropping_?" She ripped her hand away from his and clutched her sheets.

"I talked to Ronald about it, and he told me that you refused treatment. That you're still refusing treatment. Katie, I don't understand."

"So let me get this straight. You eavesdropped on a _private_ conversation between me and my doctor, and then you went _behind my back_ and talked to Ronald about my personal life? And now you're trying to _understand_ me?"

"You hid it from me." He got a little mad now, even though he didn't want to be mad at her, not ever again. "How was I supposed to know? When was I going to find out? At the funeral?"

He knew he'd gone too far, and it made all his anger instantly dissipate. Her eyes dropped down, her gaze lost somewhere in the folds of her bed sheets.

"Shit. Katie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just…I hated not knowing something so important about you. When I found out, I was devastated to hear you were going through something so...I am still devastated. I care about you so much…"

She'd started crying, and at some point during his speech, he'd managed to awkwardly climb into the bed next to her, dodging IV tubes and monitors, until he'd settled in, curled up on his side so he could fit and thinking of Goldilocks again. _This bed is too small. This moment hurts too much._

"I don't want chemo," she blubbered into his chest. "My grandpa had chemo. It was awful. It does terrible things to you."

"But it might help," he said, using his free arm to hold her close and stroke her hair. "There are people who try chemo and get rid of their cancer."

"Maybe I don't want to get rid of it…"

"What do you mean?"

"Grandpa. If I…if I get chemo, and they cure me, I…I might forget about him. I might forget I'm from the future, and that I need to go back and save him."

He tightened his hold, not wanting to hear this, not wanting her to go there. He needed her lucid. "Have you ever thought about trying to live here, in the present?"

She sniffled and pulled away a little. "What does that mean?"

"Would it be so bad, to forget about the future? You wouldn't forget about your grandfather, I promise. But you also wouldn't need to have to try to go and save him all the time. Because you can't, Katie. You can't change the past. Or the future. Not even if you're a time traveler. You have to just live."

She stared back at him, her lashes laced with tears and her nose running. The sight made his heart ache.

"You still have Ronald, and you have me. I'll stay with you through everything." His mind started spinning then, thinking of all that could happen. A little part of him got excited, and he started talking faster. "You'll probably have to travel to the city for treatments, but I'd go with you. Maybe we could even move there together."

Katie giggled half-heartedly at his enthusiasm. "You couldn't move to the city, Carl. You have the café to run here."

"I'll open another one," he answered, breezy but sincere. "Or I'll do something else. Don't you see, Katie? That's the point. There are so many possibilities. But we have to keep moving forward."

"But…"

"I love you."

Something changed in her face then. He saw her blush.

"But…but…when I do chemo—" He noticed she said _when_, not _if_, and he wanted to shout his jubilation straight to the moon, but he kept quiet and motionless as he waited for her to finish. "—I'll lose all my hair, you know. I'll be bald."

He chuckled and ran his fingers through the length of one of her curls. It was lovely, like everything about her, but they didn't need it. "I wouldn't care."

She touched her own hair, a tentative smile on her face. She then let go with a sigh and reached up to touch his hair. "I'm going to look strange when I go bald."

He kissed her forehead and answered with absolute certainty. "No, you're going to look beautiful."

**end  
**


End file.
